


Divergent

by tosca1390



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jim had seen too much of the life he’d never lead. He hadn’t had a chance to think about it until now.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divergent

*

In theory, James T. Kirk was having a great day.

He’d been promoted to Captain; he had his own ship; and Starfleet didn’t hate him, since he saved the world, of course.

All this had Jim wanting to bounce around the halls of Starfleet, something deeper than pleasure skating over his skin. It felt more like fulfillment; a puzzle finally solved, a life finally waiting to be lived, instead of the bullshit he’d been playing at for 25 years.

During the commendation itself, he was like a fish out of water, from all the applause and the praise (something he’s used to giving himself, but not receiving from others); it was an absolute whirlwind, and he didn’t come down until much later, in his empty dorm room. His roommate’s stuff sat still in neat, organized piles, waiting for an owner that won’t return; Jones had been on the _Farragut_.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jim looked around, an ache lying deep in his chest as the ceremony filtered back through the fog. Pike, looking ten years older than he should, had wheeled over, smiling widely, shaken his hand, and said _Your father would be proud_.

That had made him smile six hours ago. Now, his stomach twisted into itself, a sick little pit in the middle of his body. 

His father should have been here. A whole graduating class shouldn’t be floating in pieces in the leftover crumbs of a Federation planet out in space. Vulcan should still be out in space, thriving and producing more pointy-eared bastards for Jim to infuriate. Pike should be walking. 

This was not the life he should have had. It was a divergent path he was held responsible for, after an incident he had nothing to do with that changed the course of a whole Federation.

Jim paced the room, his head full to bursting with all the dueling moments, stuck in the haze of the emotions of his oldest/newest friend who he couldn't even call a _friend_ yet. He needed to get out. He needed to do something else other than sit and stew over guilt he wasn't sure he deserved.

*

In the face of personal distress, Jim tended to use the same prescription over and over. 

He drank.

That’s how Spock and Bones found him, three hours later, in his not-so-usual dive. Jim used The Night Owl, a low-lit bar with nooks and crannies to hide in, for dark days and stressful weeks, as they had the best whiskey in town. But only Bones knew the meaning of it, so of course, he’d know where to look.

He didn’t notice them enter, though the bar settled slightly at the sight of an expressionless Vulcan and a cantankerous, dark-haired Human entering together. Jim sat in the back, a dark corner perfect in which to sulk, a full shot glass of whiskey in his hand and four sitting upside down in a little row in front of him. 

He didn’t feel better, though; he felt _wrong_ , like something had been permanently fucked-up, and he should have been able to fix it. The elder Spock’s mind-meld had been messy, due to his emotional state, and Jim had seen too much of the life he’d never lead. He hadn’t had a chance to think about it until now.

Sulkily, Jim sipped at the whiskey; the still-healing cuts in his mouth had protested at first, but after the second shot, he didn’t notice anymore. He also didn’t notice the two Starfleet officers striding towards him. 

“Captain.”

Jim couldn’t help a snort, looking up from beneath his lashes at Spock. “It’s the dream team,” he muttered. 

“I do not understand that turn of phrase, Captain,” Spock replied placidly. “But yes, it is I and Doctor McCoy.”

Leaning back in the booth, Jim threw back the rest of the shot and set it down, a slight quiver sliding down his spine. “You two want a drink?”

Bones snorted. “Haven’t you sucked the place dry yet, Jim?” he asked dryly.

Half of Jim’s mouth curled into a smile. “That sounded a bit like insubordination to me, Doc.”

Moving past Spock, Bones slipped into the other side of the booth. “Good, you can still pronounce big words you don’t understand. You’re not too far gone.”

Jim chuckled half-heartedly. “Gonna sit, Spock?”

After a moment, Spock folded himself into the booth gracefully. “We have been looking for you, Captain.”

“Miss me already?” Jim asked, drawing his fingertip along the wet rim of his shot glass. “I’m flattered.”

Spock glanced at Bones, who rolled his eyes. “It was not a matter of missing. We wished to celebrate your elevation together.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“The crew,” Bones popped in, a shock of dark hair falling out of its usual sweep across his brow. 

The crew. _His crew_. Jim swallowed hard, glancing down at the worn wood table. “Where are the rest, then?” 

Spock cleared his throat. “We deemed it appropriate to separate, in an effort to locate you in an efficient manner. Since you have been found, I will go notify the others. Please excuse me,” he said, rising fluidly from the table. 

Jim looked up just in time to see a glance pass between Spock and Bones; his hands clenched against the wood, knuckles still bruised from however many fistfights he had encountered over the last week. Spock departed towards the exit, communicator in hand, leaving just Jim and Bones sitting in the bar, the talking and clattering muted from this far away. 

“Thought you hated him,” Jim said after a moment.

Bones glanced at him. “We’ve come to a mutual understanding.”

Jim smirked. “You two gonna have a secret handshake soon?”

“Jim, what the hell are you doing?” the other man asked instead, voice quiet.

The ache from before resurfaced, blooming widely in Jim’s chest. Shoulders slumping, he drummed his fingers idly. “Having a drink.”

Sighing, Bones leaned forward. “More than one, and you’re alone. Not exactly the healthiest move.”

“’m not your patient,” Jim grumbled. 

“You’re always my patient, that’s the beauty and the horror of being my friend and captain,” Bones retorted.

Chuckling, Jim raised his empty shot towards the bartender. “Poor me,” he said lightly, giving Bones his trademark smirk; he didn’t feel it reach his eyes. 

They were quiet for a moment as the waitress brought Jim another shot, and took Bones’ order ( _bourbon, what else? In the other reality, would Bones drink bourbon?_ ). Jim didn’t touch his whiskey; it sat glistening amber in the muted light, the same color as Vulcan’s atmosphere before—

“Damnit, Jim, would you stop acting like a pouty teenager?” Bones interrupted finally, voice gruff. 

Rubbing his hand over his still-tender face, Jim glanced at his closest friend—his _best_ friend. Would they still be best friends in that other life? “You just—Bones, you don’t fucking get it,” he said wearily. 

“It’s been a good day, Jim. The first good day after a lot of _awful_ days, and you’re sitting here moping. You’re right, I don’t _fucking_ get it,” Bones said, frustration curdling his words. “Are you still upset about me not sticking up for you when Spock marooned you? Because you seem to have forgiven him right quick.”

Frankly, Jim had forgotten all about it.

“He was just doing his job. You were being a prick,” Bones continued, his eyes getting a little crazy, the way they did whenever a ship was about to take off, or when Jim did something really stupid. “And he was Captain, so what could I do? If it makes you feel better, I told him off later.”

Jim couldn’t help it; he began to laugh, a boozy chuckle that cycled on itself. “Bones, we saved the goddamn world. I’m over it,” he said between staccato breaths, wheezing slightly. 

Face slight red, Bones nodded curtly. “Fine, be infantile,” he muttered, thanking the waitress as she brought his bourbon. 

Groaning, Jim kicked Bones under the table. “I’m just saying, I get it,” he said as Bones yelped. 

Bones drained his shot and set it down lightly. “Good,” he said. “So then what’s the enormous tantrum about, kid?”

Rankled, Jim drained his whiskey and set the glass down heavily. “Hate it when you call me that,” he muttered. 

“Jim,” the other man said quietly. “Is it being Captain?”

“No,” Jim murmured, beginning a slow and leaning stack of his empty shot glasses. 

A foot connected with force on his ankle, and Jim winced, eyes fixing on Bones. “You’ve got to give me something,” Bones said, something akin to pleading in his gaze. 

Chest tightening, Jim sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He _wanted_ to tell Bones everything, about elder Spock, and the mind meld, and the alternative life he had flashes of in his dreams, and his secret fear over whether he was going to be less than the captain he should have been—

A flash of red caught the corner of his gaze, and he moved his eyes to watch Uhura enter the bar, Spock and the rest of his rag-tag crew filing in behind her. Her eyes slanted on him, and she started weaving through the crowd. 

“Jim?”

He looked back at Bones, shrugging weakly. “I’ll tell you later,” he said quietly, pasting on his trademark smirk. “Buy you a drink?” he asked as Uhura slipped into the booth next to bones. 

She raised a brow. “I was just about to offer one to you, Captain,” she said lightly. “I think you’ve earned it.”

“And your drink’s on you, I remember,” he added. 

Uhura gave him a slight smile; he couldn’t help but think maybe she didn’t find him quite so annoying anymore. That was promising. He wondered how he and Uhura met in the other reality, wondered if he earned more than just a drink—maybe a first name. But that didn’t matter in this reality.

Spock folded ( _because that really was the only way to describe it, folding, with his long limbs and almost too-skinny torso_ ) into the seat next to her. “I will buy the first round. It seems customary,” he said as he sat, his shoulder pressed to hers. She didn’t move closer, merely turning to greet Bones, but the smile in her eyes gleamed.

Jim smiled inwardly; he scooted over to let Sulu and Scotty into his side of the booth. “Chekov, grab a chair,” he said as the fresh-faced, wide-eyed kid brought up the rear. 

“Aye, Keptin,” he said eagerly through his thick accent, dragging a chair over and sitting at the head of the booth. “May I hev a drink?”

Jim smiled faintly. “Anything you want, kid.”

Sulu chucked Chekov on the arm. “I’ll order you something good,” he said with a grin.

“Forgive me for being afraid,” Chekov said anxiously.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you,” Uhura added, smoothing her hair over her shoulder.

“There’s whiskey, aye?” Scotty burst in, voice brassy and high, waving at the waitress. “Christ, haven’ had a drink in ages.”

“What, one day?” Sulu cracked. 

“When you’re on Delta Vega, a day without a drink is an age,” Scotty shot back. 

“I find that Delta Vega is an unfortunate choice of Starfleet outpost,” Spock commented. “It does not provide much in the way of stimulation, and is classified as unsafe. I am curious to know what you had done to be sent to such a place.”

As Scotty began regaling the group with the story of the Admiral’s prize beagle, Jim smiled faintly and sat back. Bones’s eyes were still fixed on him, but he couldn’t think about that now. 

What gave him some comfort, more than the drinks Spock bought, and the shots of whiskey Sulu and Scotty began shoving at Chekov, and Uhura and Bones teaming up to gently tease an emotional response out of Spock (who may have cracked a smile), was the certainty that this crew was his crew, no matter what the reality. 

*

Hours later, Bones has an arm wrapped around Jim’s waist as they stumbled home to the dorms. The others had left one by one (or in Spock and Uhura’s case, subtly together in a non-overt way, which had made Chekov giggle before Sulu helped him home) until it was just him and Bones, like old times. They’d closed the bar and were now bracing themselves in the salty warm air, breathing in deeply. Or, at least, that’s what Bones was telling him to do.

“Deep breaths, Jim, you’ll sober up,” he said, hoisting him up. 

Jim chortled, hand curled possessively on Bones’ shoulder. “Don’ wanna,” he murmured, eyes half-shut with whiskey. The night breeze was persistent off the ocean, cooling through his uniform. 

“Too bad. Gotta be able to operate your fucking door,” Bones grumbled, leaning off-balance as Jim shifted his weight. 

Jim’s chest constricted at the thought of going back to his lonely room. “I can—can’t go back, Bones,” he said quickly, holding onto him tightly. “Gotta come back with you.”

Sighing, Bones shook his head. “I’ve only got the one bed, Jim, and I don’t think you should be sleeping on the floor.”

Taking a deep breath, Jim straightened and shrugged off his friend’s arm. He swayed under his own body weight, but managed to keep his eyes on Bones. “I can’t go back there,” he said, voice hoarse with drink. “It’s—it’s a fucking mausoleum, Bones.”

Eyebrow cocked, Bones crossed his arms over his chest. “Big word. Guess you’re sobering up.”

“Shut up,” Jim muttered, wheeling around and slumping onto a sidewalk bench. Starfleet’s main building loomed over him; the quad was completely deserted. “Jones is dead, and he shouldn’t be—he wasn’t supposed to be—“

“You think any of them were, Jim?” Bones interrupted, standing next to him.

“You don’t get it,” Jim said through gritted teeth, lifting his head to look up at his friend, hating the questioning, pitying look on his face. “None of them were, and neither was my dad, and Spock and I were always supposed to be friends, and you—“

“Damnit Jim, I’m a doctor, not a psychiatrist! I don’t have time for rambling!” Bones exclaimed. “What is going on with you?”

His chest felt stuffed with knives; Jim looked up at Bones, hands clenched into fists on his thighs. “Sit down, Bones,” he said quietly.

And he did.

It took half an hour, what with the drinking, and Jim’s general stammering during any sort of meaningful conversation. By thhe time he was done, Jim sobered up some more (enough to open his eyes the whole way), and just watched Bones, who had a shocked, still look in his eyes. His face was frozen.

“You…and Spock? Best friends?”

Jim sighed, leaning back against the bench. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, just barely, and he could feel the weariness settling into his bones. “Yeah. We’re all friends.”

Bones snorted. “The Three Musketeers, huh? I’ll be damned.”

“You believe me, right?” Jim asked earnestly, heart trilling in his chest. 

“Course I do. Explains a lot,” Bones replied, looking away, off onto the ocean. “Fuck me, Jim. No wonder you’ve been out of your mind more than usual.”

“More than usual?” Jim squeaked, but Bones ignored him. 

“Jim, you’ve got to get out of your fucking head. You can’t let this rule every choice you make,” he said slowly, the drink leaving him as well. “That’s not your life.”

Jim laughed dryly, looking out onto the dewy grass. “It should have been,” he said glumly.

One of Bones’ strong, lean hands rested on his shoulder, an anchor to the life he’s in now. “But it isn’t, so it’s not, Jim,” he said. 

Insides crumpling, Jim rested his head on his hands, elbows digging into his thighs. “What if I’m not as good as I could have been?” he asked finally, skin hot with a shame he wasn’t sure he deserved yet. 

Bones made a deep, gruff sound of frustration. “I’m gonna murder that green-blooded bastard,” he muttered, grasping Jim’s shoulder tightly. “Jim, you’re going to be great. You’re cocky and arrogant enough for three Starfleet captains and you’re pretty fucking brilliant when you’re not completely moronic. So shut the hell up about the life you could have had, and live the one you’ve got now, all right?”

Jim breathed in deeply, feeling the last of the liquor in his fingertips. He lifted his head and glanced at Bones, who was looking at him with a mix of exasperation and sympathy, eyes still hooded with bourbon.

“The way I see it, Jim, is that it doesn’t matter how you got here. It just matters that you _did_ ,” Bones said after a moment.

Jim’s insides loosened their knot; his chest seemed to expand for the first time all day. He’d never been so thankful for Bones in his entire _life_ —

Pausing, he smirked. “Course I did. I was dared to.”

Rolling his eyes, Bones stood. “Good, you’re back to being a prick. I’m exhausted, let’s get some fucking sleep.” He held out his hand to Jim, eyebrow raised.

“I’m still coming back with you,” Jim said as he took his hand and got to his feet, swaying slightly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bones groused, arm secure around Jim’s waist. “Let’s go, before you have another nervous meltdown.”

“And you say you’re not a psychiatrist,” Jim teased, looking up into the faintly navy-blue sky. The stars were beginning to fade, but he would be up there again soon enough.

*


End file.
